Lives of Girls and Women Read Online Free PDF Page A

belong to her. She’s always tellin’ me, get this junk out of here, clear this junk out of here! Well it doesn’t look so much like junk when she wants some herself. Only trouble is, how do I know where she went to? I better get in touch with that brother.”
    After seven o’clock, when the cheaper rates came on, my father put through the long distance call—on our phone, Uncle Benny didn’t have one—to Madeleine’s brother. Then he put Uncle Benny on the phone.
    “Did she go down to your place?” Uncle Benny shouted immediately. “She went off in a truck. She went off in a grey panel truck. Did she show up down there?” There seemed to be confusion at the other end of the line; perhaps Uncle Benny was shouting too loudly for anybody to hear. My father had to get on and explain patiently what had happened. It turned out that Madeleine had not gone to Kitchener. Her brother did not show a great deal of concern about where she had gone. He hung up without saying good-bye.
    My father started trying to persuade Uncle Benny that it was not such a bad thing to be rid of Madeleine, after all. He pointed out that she had not been a particularly good housekeeper and that she had not made Uncle Benny’s life exactly comfortable and serene. He did this in a diplomatic way, not forgetting he was talking about a man’s wife. He did not speak of her lack of beauty or slovenly clothes. As for the things she had taken— stolen, Uncle Benny said—well, that was too bad and a shame (my father knew enough not to suggest that these things were of no great value) but perhaps that was the price of getting rid of her, and in the long run Uncle Benny might consider that he had been lucky.
    “It’s not that,” said my mother suddenly. “It’s the little girl. Diane.” Uncle Benny chuckled miserably.
    “Her mother beats her, doesn’t she?” cried my mother in a voice of sudden understanding and alarm. “That’s what it is. That’s how the bruises on her legs—”
    Once Uncle Benny had started chuckling he couldn’t stop, it was like hiccoughs.
    “Wel ye-uh. Ye-uh she—”
    “Why didn’t you tell us when she was here? Why didn’t you tell us away last winter? Why didn’t I think of it myself? If I’d known the truth I could have reported her—”
    Uncle Benny looked up startled.
    “Reported her to the police! We could have brought charges. We could have had the child removed. What we have to do now, though, is put the police on her trail. They’ll find her. Never fear.”
    Uncle Benny did not look happy or relieved at this assurance. He said cannily, “How would they know where to look?”
    “The provincial police, they’d know. They can work on a province-wide basis. Nation-wide, if necessary. They’ll find her.”
    “Hold on a minute,” said my father. “What makes you think the police would be ready to do that? They only track down criminals that way.”
    “Well what is a woman who beats a child if she isn’t a criminal?” “You have to have a case. You have to have witnesses. If you’re going to come out in the open like that you have to have proof.”
    “Benny is the witness. He’d tell them. He’d testify against her.” She turned to Uncle Benny who started his hiccoughs again and said witlessly, “What’s that mean I have to do?”
    “Enough talk about it for now,” my father said. “We’ll wait and see.” My mother stood up, offended and mystified. She had to say one thing more, so she said what everybody knew.
    “I don’t know what the hesitation is about. It’s crystal-clear to me.”
    But what was crystal-clear to my mother was obviously hazy and terrifying to Uncle Benny. Whether he was afraid of the police, or just afraid of the public and official air of such a scheme, the words surrounding it, the alien places it would take him into, was impossible to tell. Whatever it was, he crumpled, and would not talk about Madeleine and Diane any more.
    What was to be done? My mother